Jeffrey Dean
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'Qui: The Fall of Ottawa' Part 2, Chapter 14
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 22:00:01 +0000 UTC[Please note this is not an official World of Darkness licensed product. All chapters within this setting will be available free of charge and will never be behind a paywall.]
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Previously: Sam defeated a severely weakened vampire after it attacked her in her lobby. Unfortunately, the body was quickly discovered and the police were involved. Sam headed back to her apartment to call Qui in hopes that he could help make the problem go away. Qui arrived close to sunup and examined the scene before joining Sam in her apartment. He explained the situation and then asked her something that she should have expected--the sun would soon be rising and he needed a place to sleep.
Chapter 14:
Sam paced back and forth across the length of her apartment, forehead damp with sweat as she muttered to herself. This was too much. This was too much all at once. She hadn't even believed in vampires until tonight. Well, she knew there was something strange out there after seeing the commissioner in her true form, but a vampire? Ridiculous. But James had proven otherwise. And Sam? She was… something else, but somehow more than human.
She'd killed someone with an axe.
She was being spied on by a homeless man who had died in front of her.
The boss she couldn't stop thinking about was sleeping in her spare bedroom and this wasn't exactly the way she'd hoped that particular daydream would play out. The absurdity of it was too much and she started laughing.
No. Not again. She sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and forced herself to breathe. "I can handle this," she muttered to herself. She put her hand on her chest and felt her heart beating. Counted the beats until they hit one-hundred.
"I'm still alive."
She took the small piece of paper James had taken from the vagrant out of her pocket and read it again. 'Watch the cop,' it said. 'Write down when she leaves and returns. Describe anyone who comes with her or leaves with her.'
"What the hell…" She remembered where she'd seen that handwriting, now. Every so often she'd needed to pass on correspondence to Commissioner Cranston after it arrived at the station. A year or two back, there had been several cryptic letters that the commissioner insisted be forwarded to her personal office. They'd been signed by someone named Michel and they were all written in pencil with this same angular handwriting. It was the kind of thing that stood out.
Someone associated with Cranston was having her watched. That was just great.
Sam looked over at the closed door leading to the room where James was, presumably sleeping the sleep of the dead. She could pull back the curtains and then open that door–if everything he told her was true, he'd die almost instantly. She could barely believe that someone like him would have left themselves at her mercy like that. He could have abandoned her here to deal with the bodies on her own, but he'd come to her aid. She didn't know how or why, but he'd chosen her.
She felt proud of being selected.
The phone rang, and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin as the bell shattered her introspection. It was so loud–would it wake James and put him at risk? Probably not, but it wasn't worth taking the chance. She cursed to herself and walked over to the kitchen, glaring at the deep red behemoth of a rotary phone that had come with her place. She'd always felt somewhat resentful of the thing and how not upgrading to touch-tone phones was indicative of the landlord refusing to budge an inch on upgrades to bring the place out of the 60s. Still–she had to be glad that they never renovated the fire axe out of the hallway. If dealing with a three-pound rotary phone was the cost that she had to pay in exchange for her life, then so be it.
She picked up the handset. "Hello?"
"Samantha Lyle?" a deep male voice said on the other end. She didn't recognize him.
"Yes?"
"This is Daniel Pollard from the commissioner's office. I apologize for intruding, but Mrs. Cranston had a question for you. I'll admit, it's rather odd, but she insisted I call you after sunup."
Sam felt a deep chill. "You're right," she replied. "That is odd."
"Anyway," the caller continued, undeterred, "the commissioner wishes me to inquire about the whereabouts of Mr. James Coyle. The office understands that the two of you visited a murder site together last night but neither of you has filed a report. Mrs. Cranston has sought to track down Mr. Coyle since, but has failed to locate him. Anything you could tell us would be very helpful, Samantha."
Sam was speechless. In all her years working for the Ottawa PD, she'd never received a phone call like this after her shift, and certainly not about missing paperwork for a case she'd only just begun investigating. Most of her coworkers went weeks before filing any kind of detailed report or even briefs about their ongoing investigations. To be singled out like this was not only unusual, it was unheard of.
There were several possible reasons why this could be happening, but they all tied back into one thing–the commissioner was watching her and she likely knew that James had taken her under his wing. She could lie–say that she didn't know where her boss was. But the thought of Cranston's bestial form barging into her apartment–wait…if James was right and the commissioner was like him, she wouldn't be able to take any action until the sun had gone down. In the meantime, all Sam had to do was cover for him.
"I'm sorry, Daniel," she said. "I haven't seen Mr. Coyle since we parted ways at the station."
"That's unfortunate," the caller replied. "Please call the office if you see him before your shift tonight."
She was starting to feel indignant. "Why is this so important?"
The caller sighed. "As I said, I'm not entirely certain. All I know is that the commissioner was quite worked up over the matter, but she refused to handle it herself. So here we are, speaking to each other on behalf of two separate people. Isn't bureaucracy grand?"
Sam tightened her fingers around the handset, resisting the urge to tell this infuriating man where he could stick his bureaucracy. "I very much doubt I'll be running into anybody before work, tonight."
"A quiet day in, then?"
She held back a snarl. There it was again–the disrespect. Daytime workers often seemed either unwilling or incapable of understanding that night shift slept during the day. The insult bothered her almost enough to make her forget why she was so afraid in the first place. "I need the same eight hours that the rest of you need," she said, her tone clipped. "I'll speak with James in the evening and we'll be sure to file the report as required. Is there anything else, Daniel?"
The caller sniffed. "Sleep well, Ms. Lyle." He hung up before she could reply.
"Asshole!" Sam slammed the phone down on its cradle hard enough that she was worried she broke it. "Gotta get used to this new strength before I break something," she muttered to herself as she stormed into her bedroom.
She lay down on the bed flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She had a habit of micro-focusing in on little details of the flaking paint and plaster while letting her mind wander. It was easier to focus her thoughts when she was anchored to one spot that she could come back to if her imagination got out of hand. She fastened that tether firmly in place before casting out her net into the vast sea of her thoughts. There were so many of them tonight that she didn't know where to begin before giving in to sleep and slipping into unconsciousness.
She'd killed a man.
No, not a man. A thing. It had to be a thing or else she'd go mad. Not a person. A creature. She was no killer–her entire life all she'd wanted was to help other people. Murder wasn't something she ever imagined she could be capable of. Self-defense, perhaps? As a police officer, she often carried a firearm, though she'd never actually fired it at a person until tonight. After so many years, the gun didn't feel like much more than a part of the uniform, occasional target practice notwithstanding.
She'd been seconds away from death.
If not for the homeless man coming to her aid, she wouldn't be alive right now. She should be grateful for that–for him–but all she could feel was a sense of loathing for the vagrant who'd been spying on her in secret. She'd taken pity on him, given him cash and let him in from the cold. But he'd saved her, whether intentional or not, so she owed him some respect. Besides, she should focus her ire on the person who hired him to spy on her, not the tool that they used.
She pointedly avoided thinking about the fact that James was sleeping two rooms away and why he was sleeping there instead of his own apartment. She'd have plenty of time to deal with that when she woke up.
Sam took a deep breath and held it in, hand over her chest and focusing on the rhythm of her heart. She counted its beats to ward off any other thoughts until she finally managed to fall asleep.
